


A Change of Place

by Briarwolf (Tru)



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8135587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tru/pseuds/Briarwolf
Summary: Yuuri worries about the past, Murata reassures him that he doesn't have to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the picfor1000 challenge on LJ. My picture inspired the setting, but little else.

They had been dropped in a wide variety of odd places – Yuuri tried hard not to think about that one time in the bath – but this one seemed strangest yet. In fact, if anyone had asked, Yuuri would have said that he was certain that they weren't in Japan at all. He stood up, shaking wet hair out of his eyes and moving away from the puddle toward where Murata stood, deep in contemplation of a broom that seemed stuck in the ground by the handle.

“I don't think we're in Kansas anymore,” he said, and the Sage looked at him, startled, then grinned as Yuuri continued, “Or maybe we are. I've never been to Kansas, so I don't know.”

“We aren't in Kansas, Shibuya,” Murata said, glasses flashing in the light of the lowering sun. “Close enough though, as we aren't anywhere near home either. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Let's just wait a bit and see what happens.”

There was something in Murata's tone, a sort of fond exasperation, and Yuuri found himself wondering yet again what had occurred in Murata's first life that had led to the faint hint of sadness that appeared in the boy's eyes whenever he spoke of it. Yuuri knew how foolish people often thought him, but he had seen the way Murata could stare for hours at the paintings in the castle, and he realized that there was more to the story than anyone had been told.

The two dark-haired boys stood close together, staring at the puddle in the rutted path, the one they had found themselves sitting in upon their arrival. The air in this place held a faint bite, and the grasses in the field were brown and dry. The dampness of their clothes made them shiver a little, and for a moment they were quiet, each lost to their own thoughts.

“Murata?” Yuuri ventured at last and the other boy made a soft, sort of humming sound and looked at him. He had to take a breath before forcing himself to go on, scratching the back of his head in awkward discomfort. “Were you... very fond of the Shinou?

“I mean,” he added quickly, “was he a very good friend, in addition to a good Maou?”

“I, well,” Murata looked flustered, and then his expression cleared and a gentle curve took over his mouth. “Yes, Shibuya. He was a good Maou, but he was also the closest of my friends.”

“Oh,” Yuuri couldn't really explain the sudden feeling of disappointment, and he scuffed one foot through the mud that lined the edge of their puddle. He squinted off into the yellow-edged sky. “That's good.”

There was another short stretch of silence, and then Murata side-stepped, closing the small gap between them and letting his arm bump into Yuuri's.

“Shibuya Yuuri is a good Maou, too,” Murata said, and Yuuri looked up, and saw the smile that Murata was giving to reassure him.

“And a good friend?” Yuuri blurted before he could stop himself, cheeks flushing dark pink as he saw the understanding flare in Murata's eyes, then watched those eyes be screened away by light reflected on the lenses of Murata's glasses.

“Yuuri is a good Maou,” Murata repeated, and Yuuri caught back a sound at the use of his given name, so seldom from Murata as the boy continued, “and Yuuri is something more than a good friend.”

Murata's head tilted further, and his hands lifted up to frame the contours of Yuuri's face while his mouth came down and their lips met in a gentle, fluttering touch. Yuuri made a surprised little noise, and Murata started to pull back, fingers sliding down over the line of Yuuri's jaw. Lifting his own hands, Yuuri caught Murata's before they could completely abandon the exploration of the textures of Yuuri's skin.

He pushed upward, mouth finding Murata's again; firmer now, an awkward, sweet slide. Murata smelled faintly like paper, and old books, and to Yuuri it felt somehow like something he should have always known. His lips parted and as Murata's tongue nudged carefully between he tasted spice and heat and his fingers curled tighter around Murata's wrists.

It was slow, this delicate twisting of their tongues; strange yet habitual at the same time. The unaccustomed sensation of rough-warm lips was grounded by the familiar feel of calloused hands that had held him up in more ways than he could count since this all began.

Yuuri shifted, wanting to press closer, but his foot slipped in the mud. The kiss ended on a yelp as they both tumbled in a mess of flailing limbs toward the puddle, which started to churn just before their bodies hit it. For the second time that day, they were sucked through the water that served as a portal between the worlds.

This time they were back in Japan, and Yuuri couldn't help but sigh in relief when he saw the recognizable landmarks of the park they frequently landed in. There was a foolish grin on his face, caught between being glad to be home, and remembering what he and Murata had been doing before the tragic slip.

“Ah, Shibuya?” Murata's voice interrupted his reverie, and he blinked, realizing it came from beneath him. “If you don't mind...”

Looking down, Yuuri realized that they were sprawled in the fountain, legs tangled and bodies pressed tight together. Luckily, the water was not deep, though Murata hardly looked comfortable in the few inches that were soaking his back. Yuuri flushed, scrambling upright and then offering Murata a hand to rise.

“You should also know,” Murata said, not releasing Yuuri's hand and leaning close to murmur in Yuuri's ear, “that the Shinou never was good at being subtle.”

It took a moment for the Sage's meaning to sink in; when it did, Yuuri stared aghast at the water, as though he feared it would suddenly grab him again. Murata only laughed.


End file.
